Monster
by CullenLush
Summary: Edward is judge, jury, and executioner to the wicked...but what happens when he's a famished vampire who can't find the right prey? Brief scene depicting Edward's struggle during the time early in his life away from Carlisle. One shot.


*Author's Note* This is the first piece I'm posting and it actually started off as a short story that I originally wrote in 2000. I read over it the other day and thought that it would lend itself well to being re-imagined as a Twilight short. I am debating re-working some more of my old stories into Twilight fan fiction, and need a little encouragement as I'm not even sure if this piece is decent, so I definitely would appreciate any reviews. Thank you I hope you enjoy reading it! _  
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_"It gets easier. After a few decades, everyone you know is dead. Problem solved." Edward Cullen, __Eclipse, Stephenie Meyer_

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Nothing. He couldn't recognize her face. He looked at her again. He still couldn't place her face, though he knew he had seen it before. She was laughing at the book she held in her small hands. Her laugh was so cheery and innocent; it immediately struck a chord with him. He knew he had heard that laugh before, but he still couldn't place her. She eagerly turned the page and bit down on her lower lip in anticipation. He saw the blood rush to the spot before her teeth finally released her lip.

That simple motion was nearly his undoing. He quickly turned his attention away from the window, which wasn't easy considering just turning his head made him feel weak and miserable. He hadn't fed in weeks and it had really started to take a toll on him. It had seemed simple enough at first – to just feed on the humans that were evil – an idea made even simpler by his talent of mind reading. He had been a fair judge, only imposing the death sentence on those who truly had criminal minds. And he had been a thorough executioner, ending their lives quickly. Admittedly, his quick kills were also for his own self-serving purposes. A quicker death for the ones he condemned meant he didn't have to listen to their pleas, spoken or thought. Even with the knowledge that he was killing the wicked, his conscience still screamed at him that what he was doing was wrong. That he was no better than the murderers he was slaughtering. And as if that wasn't enough, during every kill he pictured his father's face, frowning in disapproval and sadness at what his beloved son had become. It was for those two reasons why he hadn't fed in weeks.

And now, he was crouched outside of the house he had come upon while stumbling through the snow. His body was so weak and severely malnourished. He had fallen into the bushes beside the house and concealed himself there while he tried to coerce his body to rise again. He wasn't used to feeling exhausted, and a blind panic had set in as he contemplated his next move. He had left town after his last kill, not wanting to draw attention to himself, and had soon regretted the direction he had taken, leading away from civilization – and away from his food source. He hadn't seen a decent sized animal for days as they all slept in hibernation. He was starving, but death would not come. He was desperate.

He slowly turned back to the woman. She still seemed strangely familiar to him, though he knew with his infallible immortal mind that she had not been someone he had met since the time of his new birth. He searched his brain, trying to place her, to remember anything about her. Her long brown hair hung in a loose ponytail that just barely came to her waist. She looked slightly older than him, maybe in her mid-twenties. She had a caring face and a kind smile. Her mind thought only pleasant thoughts as she continued to read her book, completely absorbed in it and oblivious to his presence outside. She was a good person. An innocent. And he wanted her blood intolerably. He had been holding out for so long…too long.

As his throat burned hotter and hotter, he felt his conscience quickly losing the battle against his instincts. Without even realizing it, he had willed his drained body to stand and had placed his hand on the frame of the window, bracing his arms to lift the window as slowly and silently as possible. He felt his lips pull back, exposing his razor sharp teeth as he finally found the energy he needed to attack.

He easily lifted the window and skillfully slid into the room. Even in his fatigued state, he was an artful killer. The woman had not even looked up from her book. He inched closer to her until he was standing behind her, watching her pulse taunt him as it quickly beat in her throat.

She shivered as the open window brought in the freezing cold air. It was then that she saw him from the corner of her eye. She whipped her head around and stared, mouth gaping at the fierce hunter that loomed over her. He hissed, exposing his deadly teeth to her. Her eyes widened in horror and her mouth attempted to scream, but no sound came out. He lunged for her throat but abruptly stopped, just inches away from her petrified face.

It was within that instant, when he was just moments away from the kill, that his mind finally hit the information he had been looking for.

Clara.

Her name was Clara.

He jumped back as quickly as he had pounced. Within an instant he had flung himself into the opposite corner, staring at her still horrified face from across the room.

He realized why it had taken so long for his mind to remember her. She was a faded memory from his human life, a memory that had been forgotten long ago. And she had aged, unlike him. But it was definitely and undeniably her. His beloved niece, Clara. And he had almost taken her life.

He hadn't realized that his wandering had taken him so close to Chicago, so close to the place he had once called home. So close to his human family. Clara still sat with her book, too shocked to move. He quickly scanned her mind and saw that she did not recognize him. She had been too young when he had become ill to remember his face.

But he remembered her.

He turned his head to the side, trying to regain control as her scent filled the room. It was then that he noticed a fairly large mirror hanging on the wall across from him.

A pair of blood red eyes stared back at him, ones he didn't recognize. He stared at this strange figure and felt a painful realization go through his body.

In one fluid motion he had found the strength to bolt out the window and back into the dark night. He ran violently through the snow banks and found himself fighting to suppress tears he knew would not come.

Clara would not have recognized him even if she had been old enough to remember. His pale face, glistening teeth…the menacing red eyes. Nothing about him would have reminded her of the sweet uncle who doted on her as a child.

He was a monster.

He pushed his body harder as he ran back the way he had come. His once blind thirst now replaced by conviction. He would not allow this to happen again. He would not be weak. He ran, faster and faster. Back to his father. Back to the only life his conscience could endure. He would go back and fight for his humanity.


End file.
